I guess I was born for adventures.
That desire peaked during my training as a USAF Pararescueman in 1969; the “PJs” are the Air Force’s Special Forces. College, marriage and children filled my sense of adventure between ages 25 and 40, but a 1987 climb up Devils Tower in Wyoming restarted my inclination that eventually led to summits of Mount Whitney, Mount Hood, Grand Teton and others.
In my 40s, bicycling presented me a low-impact exercise with the views and smells of the outdoors. When I was 50, my company authorized a “sabbatical” of time off to bicycle from California to Florida, some 3,195 miles. That ride ended with me feeling more like a 30-year-old than a 50-year-old, and has sustained my interest in cycling and exercise right up to today.
In May of this year, I rode a 520-mile National Emergency Medical Services Memorial Bike Ride that followed weeks of training on a recumbent bike at a local gym. From Boston to Washington, D.C., the ride honors fallen EMS heroes or those who recently died unexpectedly. I and some other 80 riders formed the “Muddy Angels” of 2014.
Back home, just north of New Albany Links, begins miles of countryside where I rode self-designed 20-, 30-, 50- or 100-mile rides throughout the summer. By August, I had another 720 miles completed. My metabolism began to speed, my legs became rock solid, my cycle cadence improved, my confidence rose and I was ready for the ride.
Route
Having ridden from west to east across the U.S., it was now time for me to attack a north-to-south route. We started at Lake Itasca some 250 miles north of Minneapolis, at the headwaters of the Mississippi River. We learned after just 32 miles of riding that this exercise regimen required thousands of calories a day. A couple of sausage-and-egg McMuffins only lasted us about 30 miles.
At the headwaters, we snapped photos of the mighty Mississippi where it’s only 20 yards wide and can be waded through. Compare that to 500 yards in St. Paul and three-quarters of a mile in St. Louis. Twisting and turning, the river is some 2,340 miles and is fed by such great rivers as the Missouri, Illinois, Ohio and Arkansas. In New Orleans, my EMS friends tell me a mid-river swimmer could not reach the shore and would be washed into the Gulf of Mexico by its fast current.
So mighty and fast is the river as we rode alongside it that I wondered if some water molecules from our Scioto River were beside
me. The muddy Mississippi watershed encompasses 31 states between the Appalachian and Rocky mountain ranges. The river is a staple of America’s commerce, history and river travel, and lies above the New Madrid fault.
The route took us from Lake Itasca to Wadena, St. Cloud and on to White Bear Lake, where we rested for our first day. Then we went south to Northfield, to Rochester, then to Decorah, Iowa, where the temperatures dropped and the rains came. In Independence, Iowa, we were “forced” to endure two successive theater movies hiding from the downpour of rain during an unscheduled day off. Then it was on to Marion, Iowa, just north of Davenport; through Eldridge, Ill.; south to Macomb and Jacksonville, then back across the river to Florissant, Mo., a suburb of St. Louis, for another day of rest.
After re-crossing the river and taking photos of the Arch, we headed south to historic St. Genevieve, through Cape Girardeau, riding further to Hayti and Marion, Ark. before arriving in Helena-West-Helena. After a very scary ride back across the river, we rode to Cleveland, Miss., and south to Yazoo City into Clinton, where we took our final resting day. Then we continued south to McComb and Hammond before finally arriving at our goal in the Big Easy of New Orleans.
We ride about 1,665 miles in 24 days with only four days off. We met our desired average of 70 miles per day, strained up hills and against headwinds, and rode like the wind down hills and when bolstered by tailwinds. We became rain-soaked only once, on a very cold day.
Along the Road
The Mississippi watershed is the home of America’s agriculture.
Miles of cornfields were being harvested by giant combines as big as a house, eating stalks and spitting out corn in 8-inch shoots while filling trucks. The soybean fields were outmatched in size only by the corn. In the south, rice fields were abundant. And once, riding around a bend, I came upon fields where snow seemed to cover the plants, only to realize cotton fields were from horizon to horizon.
On a hot day, there was so much corn in the shoulder of the road that I wondered if it would begin to pop. During a typical riding day of 30 miles in Iowa, I estimated 24 of those miles were cornfields and six were soybean fields covering both sides of the road. The size of the large plantation homes in the south made me wonder how many children could be in one family.
Yes, America’s food supply is abundant. Yet, in New Orleans, when riding along the levee trail, I saw ocean-going ships loading grains that would be venturing to lands far off.
Each small town seemed to have one local, family-owned restaurant, filled with home cooking, inexpensive meals and patrons wondering where the two smelly guys in the tight spandex shorts and bike helmets were going. When we announced we were riding from Minnesota to New Orleans, eyes dilated, heads perked up and faces were in bewilderment.
“What in the world are you doing that for?” was the most common question. My answer was always, “to regain the strength of my youth.”
My riding partner – Jim Muellner of White Bear Lake, Minn. – had 17 $100 pledges (or bets, if you like) from Rotary Club members to be donated to the club for a local project. Jim is 78, and his fellow members bet he couldn’t make the entire ride.
Local folks suggested shortcuts and restaurants, and were always interested in our adventure. Once, when we were caught in a cold rain storm, soaked to the bone with only our muscle heat preventing hypothermia, a farmer made a U-turn, loaded our bikes in his pickup truck and drove us to the nearest town’s coin-operated laundry. There, we stripped in the bathroom to load a dryer, shoes and all, with our cold, soaking clothes. Donning those out of the hot dryer clothes was comforting.
It was the people we met along the way who enlightened the trip. The elderly were most surprised that two men of 66 and 78 would subject themselves to this kind of adventure, and many said they only wished they were healthy enough to try. The children waved with enthusiasm and marveled at the recumbent bike ridden by Jim. Even the ride through Ferguson, Mo. and East St. Louis brought waves and smiles from very friendly people.
The southern farmers seen while riding portions of the Blues and Trail of Tears were excited to learn of our journey. People made us feel welcomed everywhere. After all, people bring joy to the land.
Summary
If you plan an unsupported ride like this, you’ll need judicious use of your cell phone batteries to feed the technology that guides your route. You’ll also need plenty of tire inner tubes, as well as three riding outfits to be washed in the sink at night and hung to dry in a hotel room. Food and hotels cost money, and knowledge of how to find a local bike shop with your cell phone is essential.
The 1998 cross-country ride made me feel much younger than 50 and propelled me to remain fit all the way to age 66. Exercise is the only route to prepare for an adventure, and without a future adventure in my vision, it’s very difficult to be motivated to go to the gym five times a week.
My prayer after completing this north-south cross-country ride is to, once again, gain the strength of youth.
Bill Brown is a New Albany resident. His next goal is to cycle from Seattle to New Jersey when he hits age 71.
